


About Face

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: "I was trying to ask for directions and you accidentally pepper sprayed me because you thought I was your stalker."





	About Face

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Going out for drinks with his friends was always fun, but Blaine's heart just wasn't in it that night.  After a humble hour of mild debauchery, he set his first half-finished drink aside and settled for mingling and finally merely watching the club-goers dance.  It wasn't until he turned down his fourth invitation to dance that he decided to call it a night; he hated being the first to leave, but he knew he could fit in another hour of studying and every minute counted three weeks before finals. 

Weaving through the crowd, he found Sam tipping back another shot at the bar, punch-drunk and happy as he continued energetically explaining something to Mercedes.  "Hey, I'm gonna head back to the apartment -- are you two going to be okay on your own?" Blaine asked, catching Sam's arm when it threatened to smack him in the face.

Flapping his free hand dismissively in Blaine's direction, Sam freed himself and waved his empty glass regally, declaring in a passable imitation of Gatsby, "Couldn't be better, old sport.  Don't get lost."

(Blaine should have seen it coming then, but he didn't.)

"We'll be fine," Mercedes assured, amused and lightly buzzed as she gestured more placidly with a hand towards the door.  "Go on.  Just be safe and text me when you get home."

Grateful that they weren't mad -- and not bothering to hunt down Artie or Tina, knowing that Mike could handle them -- Blaine emerged from the sweltering heat into the cool night air with a deep sigh of relief.  It felt good to be free, even if he already felt dead on his feet.

It was late for a Tuesday and the streets reflected that; the heavy press of people had thinned to a more manageable crowd that he slipped into easily.  The darkness set his teeth on edge, but he'd walked home enough on his own not to worry over it.  Besides, one beer wasn't much, but it loosened his nerves, making the long walk more pleasant, a chance to clear his head rather than a sorely unwanted delay from his bed.

As the minutes ticked on and the streets wound on and on, however, he realized at a stoplight that he didn't recognize any of the buildings around him.  Backtracking -- and doing his best not to appear as lost as he felt -- he frowned as he looked for familiar markings.  Finding one, he gratefully traced the length of the street until, abruptly, he came to another neighborhood he didn't recognize, fighting back a wave of disquiet as he turned and began to retrace his steps slowly.

Emerging onto another brightly lit street, he spotted a familiar head of hair in the crowd just beneath a stoplight.  He'd know that spectacular cut anywhere, really, and though he hadn't expected to see Kurt Hummel, Winter Showcase Performer extraordinaire, walking briskly down the street at one in the morning, he couldn't suppress the relief that he felt when he saw him.

Except Kurt was walking away from him, moving across the crosswalk at a clip that forced Blaine to run just to keep from losing sight of him.  "Wait!" he called, but Kurt didn't slow, maintaining his same brisk pace as Blaine stumbled and shimmied through the crowd after him.

At last, Kurt reached another stoplight, body going rigid for a moment before he turned abruptly down the street, vanishing from sight.

Blaine felt his heart sink for a moment before he pressed onward, rounding the corner and taking three steps forward before --

Pain, searing, unexpected, horrible pain lashed across his face.  He staggered back with a strangled yell, provoking a startled "Oh my God" from Kurt, who, to Blaine's surprise, didn't round him off with a stout kick to the groin but stood there and stared, dumbfounded, as Blaine whined and tried not to touch his eyes.

So New Yorkers were still not the best people to ask for directions.  Noted.

"What do you want?" Kurt asked as Blaine groaned and relented, pressing his palms against his eyes.

Struggling to keep from bolting off into the night in search of something to wash the burn away with, Blaine managed to pry his hands away from his face long enough to squint at Kurt skeptically.  "Directions," he bit out, too preoccupied to see the regret flash across Kurt's face before a hand tugged at his wrist.

When Blaine refused to move, it tugged more insistently, back towards the main street, and after a long moment Blaine conceded, following him.  "Where are we going?" he asked, mere seconds before he opened his eyes and squinted around a diner, only partially full.  No one seemed to care much as Kurt weaved through the tables, towing Blaine along the whole way.

At last they reached the back of the house, and while Blaine didn't intend to stay any longer than Kurt's grip on his wrist held, he found himself hovering over a wide sink, the lure of cold tap water too strong to resist.

He didn't know how long he stood under the bone-chillingly cold water, alternatively attempting to rub and simply letting the water flush over his eyes.  With both arms planted against the basin of the sink, he hovered in the center, gasping and scrubbing, unconcerned about other voices that soon joined the empty space.  Kurt was speaking to them and that was enough for Blaine, who couldn't have pried his head from under the spout if he tried.

When the burn had subsided to a manageable sting, his face more numb than his eyes, he retreated, turning off the tap and resting his head in his hands, elbows level with the basin still.

He felt a strong pair of arms guide him into a chair and he went, sinking into it and resituating his head between his hands, afraid that the pain would return as soon as he let his guard down.  It wasn't so, and it took him a while to process the towel draped over his shoulders, trapped in his own daze for a long time.

It was his phone vibrating insistently in his pocket that finally drew him from his reverie.  Fishing it out, he squinted at the screen and hit the call button, pressing it to his ear.  "H'lo?"

"Where are you?" Mercedes demanded.  Underneath the outrage he could pick up her concern, even if it was heavily shielded as she added, "Tell me you didn't wander off." 

"I didn't," Blaine echoed.  Explanations eluded him; all he managed was a slow, "Sam all right?"

"He's fine."  Fond.  Exasperated.  "When are you coming home?  It's late."

"It is," Blaine said, even though he had no idea what time it was.  It felt late.  His bones ached with fatigue.  "Listen, I'll, um.  I'll let you know.  I'm just -- catching up with some friends right now."  The lie fell off his tongue more easily than I followed a stranger to try and ask for directions and he pepper sprayed me.

Mercedes sighed; he could almost hear the worry wrestling with frustration in her tone.  "Be safe."

"I will," Blaine replied, suppressing a laugh.  He'd been so stupid.  "'Night, Mercedes."

"'Night, Blaine."

He hung up and felt very alone for a moment, staring around the unfamiliar room and pulling the damp towel off his shoulders.  Kurt had vanished -- where to, he didn't know -- and Blaine took it as his cue to depart, hopefully quietly.  He didn't want to cause any more fuss - being pepper sprayed had already thoroughly knocked the wind out of his sails.

He'd only walked from one end of the kitchen to the other before Kurt reappeared.  Even tired and edgy, he still looked unfairly beautiful.  The concern on his face was subtle but unmistakable in his tone as he asked, "Are you okay?"

All fight drained out of him, Blaine nodded.  "I'm fine."  Then, noticing that Kurt, however involuntarily, was blocking the way, he added, "Can I go?  I-- I need to get home."

"Sure," Kurt said, stepping back to let him pass, and for a moment Blaine thought that was that when Kurt did an about-face and blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Blaine paused, inclining his head a little in acknowledgment.  "Me, too."

"Let me make you a drink."

Blaine didn't respond at once, weighing his options.  A drink sounded divine, but so did his bed.  Still, it was a long walk home -- or presumably a long walk; he still had yet to find out where he was -- and the refreshment would help wake him up a little.  He nodded, and Kurt's entire demeanor relaxed as he ambled down the line with a simple order to take a seat.

As Kurt brewed coffee -- Blaine hadn't specified a drink but watching Kurt work, he was soon convinced that a request would have been redundant -- Blaine took a seat at the bar, watching him in undisguised fascination.  Though he wouldn't admit it, had they met under fairer circumstances, he doubted he would have been able to get a single word out.

Kurt was breathtaking in person, and now that the adrenalin and pain were wearing off, Blaine couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Before Blaine could pretend to be doing anything other than staring, Kurt turned around and slid a mug of coffee across the counter to him, its warm chocolate scent making Blaine's eyes flutter shut in momentary pleasure.

He took a sip and promptly forgave Kurt for pepper spraying him, melting into his seat as he drank.  "Where did you learn to make coffee like that?" he asked as soon as he could pry himself away.

A tiny smile curled Kurt's lips as he said, "I work here."  Cleaning off the machine, he added, "You get the hang of it."

Looking around, Blaine took in the diner setting.  It was obviously upscale, but late enough that the more suit-and-tie clients had vanished.  A few stragglers were still mingling in the booths, speaking together in low voices, but most of the room was empty, quiet.

And it clicked: the Spotlight Diner.  He'd been here before -- once or twice, early on, when New York was new and he couldn't seem to soak in the city fast enough -- but it had been long enough that he'd forgotten it even existed.

Kurt worked here.  Looking back at him, Blaine noticed that he had changed into his uniform at some point.  He must have been on his way here when Blaine intercepted him.

Drawing in a deep breath, still feeling the sting in his eyes but refusing to let it get the better of him, Blaine said, "Maybe we could just -- start over?  I shouldn't have scared you."

"And I shouldn't have pepper sprayed you," Kurt chimed in, dropping his rag into a soapy bucket under the counter.  Brushing off his own hands on a clean towel, he extended one and said, "I'm Kurt."

"Blaine."  Shaking it, Blaine released Kurt's hand and said, "Thank you."

Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion.  "For what?"

For not shattering my stupid crush on you into a thousand pieces?

As terribly as their first meeting had gone, Blaine couldn't deny that Kurt's efforts to make up for it had been enough to keep his muse hopeful.

Blushing, he said, "For the coffee.  The coffee's great."

Kurt's smile broadened as he idled around the counter, tidying things up here and there.  "It's the least I can do," he assured.

Finishing off his coffee in between questions about Kurt's job and his coworkers, Blaine reluctantly set the mug aside after it was done and checked his phone, startling at the time.  "Oh, wow, I had no idea it was this late -- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep you--"

"You're not keeping me from anything," Kurt promised.  "Besides, you're a nice change of pace from our usual late night clientele."  Finishing off with wiping down a counter, he frowned and asked, "Are you going to be okay getting home?"

"Fine," Blaine said, waving a hand.  "Completely fine."  He didn't dare make a fool of himself in front of Kurt now -- any more than he already had, anyway.

Kurt was still frowning, though, and it wasn't until Blaine had finished buttoning up his coat that Kurt slid a tiny slip of paper across the counter to him.

"Text me when you get home," he said, polite but firm.  Blaine's heart was threatening to beat out of his chest, his gaze flicking once between the paper and Kurt's eyes before he nodded slowly and pocketed it.

"I will.  Thank you," he repeated, hating to leave -- he had so many questions, so many curiosities unsatisfied, and most of all he had Kurt's attention, just now, for this little, surreal snapshot of time -- but he had to go.  Mercedes was going to kill him.  "For everything," he added, holding the slip between his fingers.

"Any time," Kurt said.  "Minus the pepper spray," he added quickly.

Blaine laughed, nodded, and answered simply, "Noted."

The walk home was long -- and, indeed, he almost got lost again, taking the right turn at the last moment -- but his heart was light.

He had Kurt Hummel's number.

He'd gotten tipsy and then lost and finally pepper sprayed, but he couldn't say that he was unhappy.

He had Kurt Hummel's number and a quasi-invitation to return.

As far as Blaine was concerned, it was a good night.

Thankfully, their next date was pepper spray free.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
